


Captain's Heat

by Snickfic



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Altered Mental States, Belly Kink, Come Inflation, Gangbang, Impregnation, Loyalty Kink, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Multi, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Team Feels, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: Very occasionally, the captain of a hockey team goes into heat and needs to be lovingly gangbanged by his team to knock him up with as many babies as possible. This year it's Sid's turn.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby/Kris Letang, Sidney Crosby/Matt Murray, Sidney Crosby/Pittsburgh Penguins
Comments: 30
Kudos: 269





	Captain's Heat

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic planning to follow the whole pregnancy and gleefully and gratuitously work in all my favorite kinks, but then I kind of lost steam, and I think what I have here works moderately well on its own. This is PWP through and through, folks. Minimally edited.

“Hungry?” Kris asked, eyeballing Sid’s plate.

Sid’s plate had more food piled on it than he remembered putting there, a mountainous heap of the day’s stir fry with three slices of toast wedged in on one side. He’d eaten plenty more than this, on dares or after especially hard workouts, but as practices went, this second day of training camp was pretty light. Sully wanted to get a good long look at the prospects and new acquisitions, which meant all the vets had to do was skate a few scrimmages.

So Sid wasn’t aware of being especially hungry, and yet when he’d gone through the arena’s kitchen line on autopilot, this was what he’d come out with. “Guess so,” he said. 

It was freaking delicious, though, all of it. He scraped his plate clean, which was habitual, and went back for seconds, which wasn’t unheard of, but then he kind of wanted thirds, and—oh.

He rubbed at his stomach, pleasantly full but still not quite satisfied. He ran through his mental schedule: two more days of scrimmages and a first round of cuts, pre-season games in Columbus and Detroit, a three-game homestand. He’d never gone through a captain’s heat before, but he knew the general timeline. It’d probably hit towards the end of the homestand. Hopefully not too close to the end; they still had to send a full twenty guys back to Detroit. 

He should give the head’s up to a few people. The trainers for sure, probably his A’s at least. But first things first: he headed back for the kitchen for more stir fry.

Most captains went through a heat sooner or later if their tenure was long enough. Last year it’d been Pavelski and Kopitar—poor sucker, out pregnant with triplets for most of his first year with the C. It was why Sid had turned the Pens down the first time they’d offered _him_ the captaincy. He’d been braced for it, those first couple of years after he accepted, but it didn’t come and it didn’t come, and he was reliably informed (thanks, Taylor) that there were people out there who wondered if he was a real captain at all, and finally he’d just given up thinking about it.

He wasn’t exactly thinking about it now, either. He ate that third helping of stir fry, to the point that moving was a little uncomfortable, but not _bad_. He was just full and, weirdly, a little self-conscious about it. He didn’t want to go to the trainers; they’d probably want to look him over. They’d want to ask questions and make comments, and he didn’t want it.

What he wanted, apparently, was to make a nest in the far end of Dana’s storage room, composed of all his spare sweats, piled in a heap. Next, some spare practice jerseys he found stacked in the equipment room. Then some nice heavy pillows he found, for cushioning—

“Matt was looking for those,” Dana said mildly.

Sid nearly tripped over the—well, the goalie pads, actually. _Heavy pillows_? What the fuck. “Uh,” he said. His face was hot.

“I’ll just get them back to him,” Dana said, picking one up in each hand. “You want us to start converting one of the trainer rooms?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Sid said, still flushing hot as a boiler. “But hey, don’t spread it around just yet, eh?” he said, super casually, like there was nothing weird about any of this. Or he tried, anyway.

Dana, who was a fucking saint, just said, “Sure, Sid,” and carried Matt’s goalie pads back out to the locker room.

* * *

And then Sid kind of put it all to the back of his mind, gone but not quite forgotten. He scrimmaged and gave sound bites and sat in on a whole lot of team meetings. He minded his business and noticed without noticing how each of the locks for the opening night roster got called away by Sully, one by one, for his usual pre-season meeting of the minds. 

He also ate constantly. He walked around with granola bars now as well as water bottles. He was in the commissary four or five times a day, at weird times when no one else was around, stuffing his face until finally the hunger eased up. It slowed him down a little, on the ice. He could feel the sluggishness. He only got the standard amount of shit for it, though.

One day he looked up from taping his stick, and Sully was beckoning to _him_. Sully didn’t believe in talking across a desk, so they went to the lounge instead. It was empty, except for them. As soon as they were settled on the couch, Sully said, “So I hear we’re going to do without you this year.”

“Uh,” Sid said. “Dana snitched, huh.”

“We’re real excited for you,” Sully said.

“ _We_ ,” Sid repeated warily.

Sully held up both hands: don’t shoot. “Just the coaching staff, the front office. We figured you’d want to tell the team.”

Sid heaved a sigh. Yeah, he probably should do that. Soon. “I, uh. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”

Sully was already shaking his head. He was giving Sid that proud father look, completely unperturbed. “We know how it is,” he said, clapping Sid on the shoulder.

And he did, Sid realized. He knew better than Sid, who’d only ever played for one team and had captained that team for nearly his entire career. Sometime long ago, Sully’s captain had gone into heat, and Sully’d had as good a chance as anyone of knocking the guy up with a hockey baby or three.

Heat pooled in Sid’s gut, familiar but utterly unexpected. He swallowed hard. “Thanks. I appreciate the support. Sorry for leaving you in the lurch,” he added belatedly. It seemed like something he should say, even if the regret felt strangely distant.

“Say no more about it. You’ve got more important things to do this year.”

Sid swung by the commissary on his way back to the locker room and reflected that this was a sign his captain’s heat was coming, if nothing else was: he kind of believed Sully. He did have more important things to do this year.

* * *

Sid pulled Kris and Geno aside after practice. “Captains meeting,” he said, and led them into into Stewie’s office, where he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed. He closed the door and turned to find them looking at him warily and with no small degree of concern. 

“What’s happen, Sid?” Geno asked.

“It’s nothing,” Sid said. “I mean, it’s not—it’s not bad.”

“Sid,” Kris said gently. He probably knew what was coming, then. 

That made it easier for Sid to blurt it out: “I’m going into heat soon.”

“Sid!” Geno said, face opening with delight. Kris’s smile was smaller, a little bit proud.

A worry, unacknowledged until now, loosened in Sid’s chest. “I’m sorry about the timing—”

“No, no, it’s good,” Geno said, squeezing his shoulder. “Always good time for Crosby hockey babies.”

“The threepeat, though,” Sid said weakly, even if that urgency from over the summer felt like a distant memory. _More important things_.

“You don’t know what can happen,” Kris said. “Last year you guys won it for me. Maybe this year we’ll win it for you.”

“Shit,” Sid said. Then he realized his eyes were wet. He wiped at them. “Shit. This has gotta be hormones.”

“When you think?” Geno asked. 

“End of the homestand, I figure?”

Kris shook his head, as if he had any experience, either. He pinched Sid’s side lightly. “You’re already eating so much. The end of the week, I think.”

Sid smoothed his t-shirt down where Kris had pinched, and yeah, okay, maybe he’d stockpiled those pre-heat carbs pretty well. There was definitely more to him than there’d been three weeks ago, and it wasn’t late-summer muscle. “Shit,” he said again, blankly. “I don’t—I’ve never—”

“That’s what we’re for,” Kris said. “Right, Geno?”

“We get everything ready,” Geno agreed. “Tell guys, make sure Dana supply everything, make everything comfortable. You just eat.”

God, Sid could really go for a sandwich right now. By the amused look on Kris’s face, Kris probably guessed. But instead of giving Sid shit for it, Kris pulled him into a hug. Startled, Sid hugged back and hung on. They didn’t hug like this that often. After Cups, mostly. Kris was solid, and whatever shampoo he was using now was pretty appealing. In fact—

Sid cut that thought off and tried to step out of Kris’s arms. Kris didn’t let him. “Congratulations, Captain,” Kris said.

Damn, there were the hormones again. Sid held on and tried to keep his breath from hitching. Finally Kris let go, and then of course Geno required a hug, too. Geno also smelled pretty good. Sid did not dry-hump him, but he came nearer than he’d been to dry-humping anyone in at least a decade. Fuck.

“A few more days,” Kris said. “And then we fuck some babies into you.”

* * *

“Sid?”

Sid hastily dropped the serving spoon back into the pasta salad and turned around. It was Matt, freshly showered and looking comfortable in his workout sweats. He’d smell good, probably, if Sid got close.

Sid dropped that thought as hastily as he had the serving spoon. He had plenty of food on his plate already, and he didn’t need to perve on his teammates for at least a couple more days, even if something in his gut was equally attracted to both Matt and the salad. “Matt,” he said, as casually as he knew how, although nothing about him was very casual these days. “What can I do for you?”

“I thought we could talk?” Matt’s expression was pinched.

“Yeah, for sure. You mind watching me eat?” Sid asked, and then flushed, like Matt might disapprove. Sid was not used to all this yet. But Matt only shook his head, so Sid led the way to a table off in the corner. “So what’s up?” he asked, and stuck a forkful of pasta in his mouth.

“I was wondering,” Matt began. 

“Yeah?” Sid said, when the silence had gone on for a while.

Matt looked him in the eye ever so briefly and then away again. “I was thinking maybe I wouldn’t—you know.”

“Wouldn’t,” Sid repeated blankly.

“I don’t know if I want to have sex with you,” Matt said.

“Oh,” Sid said, too softly. The words hurt a little, a twist of pain in his chest. He could get weepy now if he wasn’t careful, and for the first time since that realization ten days ago, he wished his heat wasn’t coming. He wished he could navigate this conversation with a clear head. Instead he had only memories of a time when he’d been good at this, and his gut, which had priorities of fucking and food, not necessarily in that order. “Um, do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Matt said. “I mean, it probably doesn’t matter to you, right? You’ll have all the other guys there.”

Sid swallowed hard. “Obviously, if you’re not comfortable with it, you don’t have to. That’s fine.”

Matt nodded.

Sid couldn’t help himself. He managed to swallow down his most pitiful, hormone-driven questions— _Why don’t you want me?_ —but he couldn’t just let it go. “I’d really like you there, though.”

“You would?” Matt asked.

“Well, yeah. I want—uh. I want to have everyone there, if I can.” Sid felt himself flush, and he didn’t really want to go on, but Matt was looking at him curiously, unconvinced, and so Sid said, “Look, I’m already so fucking horny, I don’t even know what I’m going to be like in a day or two. I’d fuck you on this table right now, okay?” He offered Matt a smile, in case Matt thought he was asking. “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“So it’s all dicks on deck?” Matt said, mouth curling at the corner. He was a little red now, too.

“Not just _any_ dicks,” Sid said, even though there was an empty place inside him that suggested that might be a lie. “Like, my team. My guys.” He paused, startled by the truth of it. Normally they were just _the_ guys, but now they were his. They belonged to him. He shook himself out of it and said, “And you’re one of my guys, so.”

“I am?”

Sid repeated back what he’d just said, in case he’d been unclear. It seemed pretty clear. “Yeah? Obviously.”

“I thought maybe—you know, probably you’d rather have Flower there than me.” 

“Oh,” Sid said blankly. Oh. He reviewed the whole conversation again, and then he looked at Matt, at the twist of Matt’s mouth, ugly and unhappy. “I mean, that’d be, cool but he’s not—he’s not on my team anymore.” It hurt to say, a whole different hurt than the one where Matt might choose not to fuck Sid as part of a team breeding ritual. It didn’t bear thinking about right now. “And you’ve been here for years, right? I wouldn’t want him instead of you. Maybe—” Sid dropped his voice, feeling as though he was about to get away with something he would normally disapprove of. “Maybe instead of Jars.”

Matt laughed, so Sid figured it was worth pissing off his past self. His future self? The self that wasn’t mostly thinking about Matt’s collarbone peeking out from his t-shirt. 

Sid dragged his thoughts back together one last time. “So you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I really want you to come try and knock me up.”

“Shit,” Matt said breathlessly, his smile wiped away. “Uh. Okay. I’ll think about it.”

* * *

Sid found Kris in the lounge two hours before warm-ups. “They’re keeping me out tonight,” he said, settling onto the couch. “Precaution.”

“You think—?” Kris looked Sid over. He was flushed, breath a little shallow. 

“Soon, probably. Fuck, Tanger.” He curled over to rest his head on Kris’s shoulder. “You’re gonna fuck me, right?”

Kris stroked his arm. “Yeah, Sid. Me and Geno and all the guys. We’re gonna fuck you so good.”

“God.” 

Maybe Sid’s hormones were affecting Kris. God knew he wouldn’t have done what he did next on any other day, but today the sound of that breathless misery was like an ache in Kris’s chest. He tipped Sid’s head up to look in his eyes. They were a little glassy. “Hey,” Kris said, and then he leaned in and kissed Sid on the mouth. The effect was immediate: Sid moaned into Kris’s mouth like he was dying, and then he started trying to swallow Kris’s tongue. A moment later he was in Kris’s lap, bracketing Kris between his legs and settling his full two-hundred pound weight on Kris’s thighs.

“Please,” he said breathlessly into Kris’s mouth. “Please, I just need to get off.”

“Okay. Okay.” Kris snaked his hand inside Sid’s sweats and found him heavy and hot and waiting, his boxers already damp with precome. At the first touch, Sid moaned again and pressed his face into Kris’s neck. It took less than two minutes to get him off, clenching and shaking. Finally he settled against Kris, limp.

“Better?” Kris asked, stroking his back.

Sid was still for a few moments. His breathing slowed. “I think so,” he said, sitting up at last. His gaze looked a little clearer now. “Just—make it a fast game, eh? No overtime.”

Kris did his fucking best. They were three ahead of Buffalo with two minutes left in regulation when Sully put his hand on Kris’s shoulder and leaned down to his ear. “Sid’s ready for you guys,” he said.

For an instant, Kris forgot everything. He looked to where Sid should have been on the bench. Only he wasn’t on there, hadn’t even dressed. “Now?” Kris asked. 

“Steady,” Sully said, still gripping Kris’s shoulder. “Just gotta keep your head in the game for two more minutes.”

Kris did, somehow. They gave up two goals in those two minutes, but they hung onto their lead by the skin of their teeth in the last twenty seconds, and then they’d won. Kris wasn’t sure he’d cared less about a win in his life. All he cared was that they had, as Sid requested, not gone to overtime. It was all Kris could do to wait at the gate and wave the guys off the ice.

Jen knew the score; by the time Kris had gotten to the locker room, she was already telling Guentzel and Sheary they were taking media, with their three points each. “The rest of you are home free,” she said.

Rusty looked to Kris, eyes wide. “Does that mean—?”

Kris throat was dry. “Yeah. Hit the showers and then report to me. We’ve got a shift chart.” God help him. The front office had mentioned this possibility when they’d offered him the A. _If Sid goes into heat, you and Geno will be in charge of it, as the alternates_ , _it_ meaning everything from shift charts to heat room décor. But Kris, along with everybody else, had assumed Sid’s window for this had passed. And now here they were.

Afterwards, he couldn’t really remember those next few minutes: stripping and showering with record speed, checking in with Geno. Geno was, if anything, even more on edge than Kris. “Maybe we check,” he said, wide-eyed and tense with adrenaline. He had a towel clutched in one hand, but the way his hair was still dripping, Kris wasn’t sure he’d used it at all.

They both knew what _checking_ would mean in this context, and as the most senior member on the team aside from Sid himself, Kris was first in line. “You okay to wrangle everyone else?”

“Yes,” Geno said, with the kind of determination that scored goals single-handedly, that turned games around. “Horny help. You go, take care.”

They’d drafted Horny to help manage the team and answer questions, since he’d actually gone through this before. He’d fathered not one but two babies on Shea Weber, a fact he kept sharing with such obvious and open delight that Kris couldn’t really call it bragging. He was solid. He and Geno could handle it, and that meant Kris could go to his captain at last, like he’d been aching to for hours. “I will,” Kris promised.

When he walked in, he barely saw the room itself, the bed, the low light of the lamps they’d brought in, the couches at the walls, the mini-fridge stocked with Gatorade and piled with protein bars, the bed piled with pillows. He’d helped plan it all, but now he saw only Sid gripping the sheets, whining softly in the back of his throat. 

“Hey,” Kris said, dropping the towel he’d had hanging at his hips. He knelt on the bed and swept Sid’s sweaty curls away from his forehead. “How’re you doing?”

Sid was in no mood for small talk. He spread his legs and said, “You’re gonna fuck me, right?” It was the same question as earlier, but now his voice was reedy and desperate. Regret kicked up in Kris’s chest: the game had dragged out too long. He should have made it go faster.

Now all he could do was say, “Yeah, man. I’m gonna fuck you.” Kris didn’t need any help getting ready. Just the sight of Sid was enough, maybe that and the, what were they, the _pheromones_ the trainers had told Kris about. He palmed himself just once and gasped; even that touch felt like the best kind of fire. He crawled down the bed and stroked Sid’s thigh. From here he could see the damp spot Sid made on the sheets. Kris brushed his finger around Sid’s rim, just to feel the slick. _Captain’s heat._

“Tanger,” Sid said, mournfully.

They’d talked about this a little, days ago, to save time and awkwardness. Kris could barely remember what awkwardness felt like now, but regardless, it meant he had a plan. “Come on, over,” he said, patting Sid’s calf. Sid rolled over hurriedly, his heel connecting with Kris’s thigh before he was through. And then there he was, sprawled out on his belly with his legs wide open. He inhaled sharply as Kris straddled him, and his hands fisted in the sheets again.

Vaguely Kris noticed that he had the famed Crosby ass right there under his hands, but all he cared about was pushing Sid’s cheeks apart, lining himself up, and pushing in.

He tried to draw things out. He couldn’t remember why anymore, but he knew there was a reason he didn’t want to come too soon. He paused every few thrusts, just to get ahold of himself again, but he never lasted long before Sid would start pushing back against him.

And then Kris came, sudden and inevitable. It felt as though Sid were dragging the orgasm out of him with the power of his ass. Well, it was Sid. Maybe he was.

It wasn’t enough; of course it wasn’t. Sid moaned softly at the back of his throat when Kris pulled out. Kris coaxed him onto his side so Kris could work Sid with his hand, but Sid was on a hair trigger, so that didn’t last long, either. Kris wiped things up after, and then there was nothing for Kris to do but spoon up behind Sid and kiss the back of his neck and murmur to him—in French, Kris realized after a while, although he thought probably it could have been Greek for all Sid cared right then.

Time stretched out strangely. The room was warm, the lights low. Somewhere beyond there was an arena and fans and teammates and trainers, but here there was only Sid, and Kris could have stayed right where he was, nose pressed into Sid’s sweaty hair, for a long, long time.

Sid did not feel the same. He began to squirm. “Tanger,” he said. “I need—”

“I know,” Kris said, feeling a sudden, aching inadequacy. He squeezed Sid’s hand. Sid made a discontented noise in the back of his throat.

All in all, it was a relief to see that door swing open at last, even if the light from the room beyond was blindingly bright. “Sid?” asked the figure outlined in the doorway.

“Geno?” Sid said pathetically. 

“Thank god,” Kris said. He shuffled backwards from Sid and sat up. “He needs more. I’m fresh out.”

“Old man,” Geno teased, as if he didn’t have most of a year on Kris. But Geno was already moving in, stroking Sid wherever he could reach. There was a part of Kris that ached to stay and watch, but that would have to wait. Instead he swung his feet to the floor—the cold linoleum woke him out of the sex fog a little—and slipped out of the room.

The next room was full to the brim with hockey players, mostly showered and nude, a few in towels, a few filtering in still sweaty from the game. Fortunately Dana had stuck the shift chart next to the door, so Kris could look at it and not have to try and remember team seniority. He read the first names on the list, after Geno’s, and said, “Olli, Dumo. You should get in there, for when Geno is finished.”

He tapped Horny next and motioned with his chin. He gave brief assurances to the guys who needed it—who wanted to know how Sid was, whether they’d have time to shower, if they could go get a snack. He _captained_. It was exhausting, and the whole time he could hear the breathy sounds Sid had made right after, his need still unmet. Kris was supposed to meet those needs; he wanted to go back and finish _right now_.

But there was a reason knocking up your captain was a team project. This was just what a captain’s heat was like, Kris supposed. Probably they’d all feel the same before it was through.

* * *

Hour one: Kris leaned against the wall and watched Rusty approach Sid with stoic determination. “Hey, Rusty,” Sid said over his shoulder.

“Hey, Sid,” Rusty said, startled, like he hadn’t figured on Sid talking to him.

“You packing something for me?”

Rusty laughed, a little choked, but Kris had never seen Rusty back down from a challenge in his life. He cupped himself and said, “You wanna find out?”

Sid turned back around and spread his legs a little wider. “Yeah. Give it to me good, Rusty.”

And going by the appreciative sounds Sid made, Rusty did. After, he climbed off the bed and met Kris’s eyes and then back to the bed, where Coler was already getting himself in position. “Do you think I—” Rusty stopped.

They all knew the odds. Kris gave Rusty’s shoulder a squeeze. “Could be,” Kris said.

* * *

Hour two: The room was pretty full now of guys who were up next and guys who’d just gone. Olli and Dumo were wedged into a corner of one of the couches, making out, though Geno had threatened to fine them both if either of them came anywhere except in Sid. Kris was leaning against a wall, trying to stay out of the way and also keep an eye on things, when the door opened yet again. It let in too much light into the dim room and making everyone blink, and Matt slipped through before it shut again.

He caught Kris’s eye on him. “Hey,” Matt said. He was still in sweats and a t-shirt. Kris could have told him he’d probably lose them in this chaos, but Matt was hunched down in the t-shirt like it was armor. 

When Kris and Geno had first made the announcement to the team, Matt had asked if they had to participate, if someone could opt-out. Kris had meant to track him down privately and talk to him one-on-one, figure out if Matt wanted to be talked into joining or talked out of it, but in all the other chaos, he’d forgotten. Now here Matt was, peering through the crowd but not taking one step further from the door. 

Out there, guys didn’t kiss. Slaps on the butt didn’t mean anything. They’d all gone a little crazy, and it took looking at Matt, gangly like a stork and clearly a little freaked, to remember the world they’d lived in before this one. Probably there was something reassuring Kris was supposed to say here, but he’d only been an A for a couple of weeks. Sid was so much better at this shit.

Fuck it. Kris elbowed Matt, just to get his attention, and then curled his hand around Matt’s neck and drew him down. Matt didn’t resist, not even when Kris pressed their lips together. That didn’t feel like enough, so Kris opened his mouth to Matt: an invitation. Kris was pretty sure neither of them even breathed for a moment, and then Matt exhaled and licked along Kris’s lip. He pressed forward, backing Kris up against the door frame. He loomed like a cottonwood, all height and no mass, easy to push away if Kris wanted to.

But Kris didn’t. For a few moments he forgot about Sid, the other guys, everything. All there was was Matt, his warm mouth and his fresh-washed smell and his long, slender fingers cradling Kris’s face. Kris slid his hand between their bodies and massaged Matt’s semi through his sweatpants.

Someone tapped Kris on the shoulder. He shifted away from Matt and opened his eyes, and there was Geno. “Matt’s turn soon,” Geno said. “Shearsy almost done.”

Kris peered over Matt’s shoulder and saw Shearsy thrusting raggedly. Then he looked at Matt, pupils blown and mouth a little swollen. “Better?” Kris asked.

Matt blinked at him. “I think—yeah, I think so.”

Shearsy finished with a sharp cry. “That’s your signal,” Kris said.

Matt nodded, sharp and determined, and then headed for the bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he went. Kris followed without asking himself why. He came around to sit on the bed near Sid, who’d rolled over onto his back a while ago. So he was there when Sid caught sight of Matt at the edge of the bed, and he saw Sid’s smile, huge and bright and delighted. “You came,” Sid said.

“Well, not yet,” Matt said dryly, but a corner of his mouth curled up.

Sid laughed out loud. “Come on, then,” he said, like a dare. Matt was grinning as he crawled between Sid’s bent knees, exactly as if he belonged there, which he did. Then he began to fuck Sid with the erection Kris had coaxed to life. 

Sid turned his gaze up to Kris, and smiled, distant but fond. He didn’t say anything; there was nothing to say. Words did not belong in this place. Kris bent and kissed Sid’s sweaty brow.

* * *

Hour eleven: Kris waved Dumo off and settled on the bed, stroking Sid’s arm. “How you doing, man?” Sid grimaced, which seemed about right. Kris checked the clock and said, “Hey Shearsy, toss me a Gatorade?” It was a purple one. Kris twisted the cap off and then hooked Sid around the shoulders. “Come on, you’re gonna sit up for a minute. Get you hydrated again.”

“No!” Sid said in alarm. “No, it’ll leak out. Tanger, no. I have to keep it.”

It took Kris a moment to follow. “Geno, you wanna plug up our boy here so he can sit up?”

They’d prepared for this. Geno knelt between Sid’s legs with a black plug. He stroked Sid’s thigh. “I put in now, then you save all. Don’t any get out, okay?”

“Okay,” Sid said, like a sigh. He spread his bent legs a little wider and bit his lip as Geno slicked the plug with Sid’s own slick and then worked it carefully in. 

“All finish,” Geno said, patting Sid’s knee.

Sid kind of—collapsed. Kris had had no idea how tight Sid had been wired until now that he’d let go. “It’s good to relax, right? Now come on.” This time Sid let Kris sit him up and hold the Gatorade to his lips. Sid drank a third of the bottle in go and then shut his eyes and gasped until he’d caught his breath again. “Maybe we don’t wait so long next time,” Kris said, but Sid’s attention had drifted. 

He pressed his palm to his belly. “Feels weird,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah?” Kris slid his hand next to Sid’s, over the soft, shallow paunch Sid had been working on the past couple of weeks. Sid obligingly moved his away, and Kris pressed gently with the flat of his hand. Sid’s skin was taut under him, but shifting, like oatmeal in a balloon. “Wow,” Kris said.

“Weird, right?” Sid said.

 _Weird_ did not cover it. “Geno, feel this,” Kris said. Geno, who’d been sitting on the couch with his phone and pretending to pay no attention, looked up instantly. Kris beckoned with his chin, and Geno abandoned the phone—how had he kept track of it through all of this?—and sat on Sid’s other side.

“Tanger, what—” Sid began.

“Feel,” Kris demanded, pressing Geno’s hand where his own had been, splayed across Sid’s middle.

Geno’s eyebrows climbed. Kris didn’t know anyone who could look surprised with their whole face like Geno could. “It’s us?”

“Yeah,” Kris said, a little awed. He turned to Sid, who clearly thought they were both insane. Kris cupped Sid’s belly again and grinned; he couldn’t help it. “It’s us,” he told Sid. He kissed Sid’s temple rather than try to explain what he meant, because he couldn’t have, anyway. Only: Sid had taken the whole team by now—a couple of times each, in fact—and he belonged to them. Or they belonged to him. Something. 

Sid’s breath had gotten shorter as Kris had lingered, and his dick was plumping, untouched and neglected. “Tanger,” Sid gasped.

Kris dragged his attention away from Sid’s gut to the abandoned Gatorade. “Drink up,” he told Sid, pushing the bottle into his hands. “Then Dumo’s going to take care of you, right”

“Yeah,” Dumo said.

“Fuck yeah,” Sid breathed. He took one more gulp and set the bottle aside, and then he was scooting down the bed, knees splayed wide. Dumo’s eyes were huge and dark, his cheeks flushed a deep pink. He swept his hand over the swell of Sid’s gut, and then, jaw set, he began to work the plug back out. Two minutes later, he was in Sid up to his balls, and Sid gave a sharp, self-satisfied grunt with every thrust.

The novelty had long since worn off, even if the basic, fundamental appeal of it hadn’t. Kris stripped the wrapper off a protein bar and settled in to eat it, absently stroking a finger along his half-chub.

* * *

Hour twenty-two: Kris woke out of a doze because someone was pulling on his hair. He had a crick in his neck, and after a moment he realized it was because he’d fallen asleep sitting next to the bed. At least he’d wrapped himself up in a blanket first. He shoved up to sit on edge, next to Sid’s reaching hand, and squeezed it. “Again?”

“Yeah,” Sid said. “Reavo was here, but he left. I don’t know who’s—who’s next. On the chart.”

Kris dropped the blanket and rolled onto Sid. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. The shift chart had been fucked since hour four. It was fine. He caught Sid’s mouth with his; it seemed like the thing to do. He’d fucked Sid two or three times already, and he wanted a kiss. Pretty soon Sid was rutting up against him, though, moaning, so Kris scooted down the bed. 

Kris needed to make a little effort now to get it up. He wrapped a hand lightly around his dick and breathed in. The place was rank, objectively. He and Sid were both starting to get ripe. Olli and Dumo too, probably; they were stretched out on one of the couches, Olli on top with his face mashed into Dumo’s shoulder. There was a blanket draped on top, but they didn’t look like they were wearing anything underneath. 

His attention caught on them for a while as he touched himself. Olli and Dumo didn’t look caught up in the frenzy of heat, like Horny said might happen—like Kris had felt when things started. They looked peaceful. If Kris was reading the folds of the blanket right, Dumo had an arm draped over Olli’s back. It was sweet.

Sweet wasn’t really doing it for Kris right now. He turned back to Sid, who was moaning softly as he stroked himself. Kris leaned in and kissed the inside of Sid’s knee. Sid twitched and went quiet. Kris kept on like that, teasing himself with one hand as he pressed a trail of kisses along Sid’s thigh, breathing Sid in, the muskiness and old sweat and salt scent that wasn’t quite either one: the smell of heat. “ _Tanger_ ,” Sid said finally, voice too full of need to have any authority in it.

“Okay,” Kris said, giving Sid one last kiss. “Pillow,” he called. A moment later, one hit him in the head. “Asshole,” he said. Sid’s self-satisfied chuckle felt surreal, a sound stolen from some other life.

But Sid obligingly lifted his ass when Kris patted it, and he spread his knees, which gave Kris a good look at his hole. Gently—but still not gently enough, judging from the sounds Sid made—Kris tugged the plug out. Sid’s hole was pink and swollen, and Sid shivered when Kris traced the rim with his finger. “Sore?” he asked.

Sid shook his head. “Not really. I mean—yes? It doesn’t—I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Just—Tanger, come on.”

“I’m coming,” Kris said. Sid chuckled; Kris couldn’t think of why.

* * *

Hour twenty-five: Kris woke out of his awkward doze on the couch to Sid whimpering. Geno was already waking up from his sprawl on the bed. He stroked Sid's shoulder and murmured softly. 

Kris’s balls were sore. He didn’t know if he had any more to give. He hadn’t left this room except to piss a couple of times. That was what it meant to be a leader, to wear the A. Or he thought it did; he thought he remembered thinking that, a while back. All his thoughts seemed like they were on a delay, now.

Schultzy must have snuck back in while they were sleeping; he was already pushing to his feet from the other couch. “I can,” he said. Then: “Christ, Sid, you’re full. Are you sure—”

“Yes,” Sid said raggedly.

That sounded like something Kris should check on. He dragged himself upright and then over to the bed. Schultzy was right; the bloat was really obvious now, a heavy round curve below Sid’s navel. Kris stroked it gently, and Sid hummed in the back of the back of his throat, eyes falling shut even as Schultzy rolled him on his side and hike a leg up.

“ ‘s gonna be babies,” Sid murmured, laying his hand over Kris’s.

A feeling that’d been building in Kris’s chest for a while—for hours, maybe, or weeks—felt suddenly as if it were going to suffocate him, a feeling too strong to identify, too large to contain, like he might burst with it. But he didn’t, and after a moment he found he could breathe again. “Yeah, Sid,” he said. From the other side, Geno petted Sid’s hair. Schultzy’s breath stuttered as he pushed in.

Kris held Sid through it, giving him something to brace against as Schultzy thrust. For the first time, Kris noticed the quiet: only Sid’s breath, and his, and Schultzy’s, and the gentle slap of Schultzy’s thighs against Sid’s ass. It was like he’d been hearing his own blood roaring in his ears all this time, and now it was stilled.

At last Schultzy finished and replaced the plug, and Sid relaxed onto his back. He stared at the ceiling for a while, unfocused. No longer in need, and that was all Kris could find to care about anymore.

“I think—” Sid said at last. Kris dragged his eyes open again.. “I think I’m done.”

“All finish?” Geno asked, sitting on the bed. He stroked Sid’s shoulder.

Sid nodded, eyes unfocused. “I think so.” He rubbed against the side of his belly and grimaced.

“You want to empty things out?” Kris asked. 

“No,” Sid said, just a little too quick to be casual. His hand closed reflexively over himself, just below his navel. “Just—will you guys stay?” Sid grabbed Geno’s hand. “I just want to sleep.”

“Of course stay,” Geno told him.

“You, too,” Sid told Schultzy. “And Horny. Everybody.”

There wasn’t space for everyone in the room to share the bed with Sid. They couldn’t even squeeze in particularly tight, because he grunted in discomfort every time someone jostled his stomach, though he tried to hide it. Kris ended up sitting at the head of the bed, back braced to the wall, and Schultzy was sitting on the floor, holding Sid’s hand. Horny and Geno closed Sid in, two slices of bread with a Sid filling.

Sid reached with his free hand and petted Kris’s knee. “Thanks, you guys. I know this was a lot.”

“You know we’ll do anything for you,” Horny said.

Kris hummed in agreement. They would. They’d do anything, whatever happened next, however many babies Sid had, whosever they were. “We’ve got you,” Kris said. The words felt heavy, certain, true: not just a promise, but a vow.

[end]


End file.
